Chapter 4: Zorua
No one dared to delay. The next group of captives hurried to escape Houndoom's gaze, only to find themselves stepping into cages once again. The iron doors shut automatically, followed by another round of cries and screams—then silence.
Each group lasted no more than three minutes. The further back someone was in line, the more despair grew in their hearts. Yet, faced with Houndoom, no one dared to resist. From start to finish, Sato remained completely calm. Houndoom's tactic was simple but effective, enhanced by the oppressive environment.
Leer—an ability so insignificant that most trainers wouldn't bother using it. But under these circumstances, with Houndoom's presence amplifying its effect, it alone was enough to suppress over a hundred people. Houndoom had clearly mastered its use.
Never underestimate any move.
Sato remembered these words from a skill instructor in his past life, and he firmly believed them.
In just half an hour, over a hundred captives had been reduced to the final group. Because there weren't enough people left, Sato's group only had six. When the iron door opened once more, Sato didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and entered the sixth cage.
Click!
The iron door shut automatically, and the overwhelming stench of blood rushed into his nose. The thick, coagulated blood covering the floor made every step feel like it could slip beneath him. A single old lightbulb, wrapped in iron wire, hung from the ceiling, flickering weakly and barely illuminating the room.
None of this fazed Sato. He calmly surveyed his surroundings, trying to match them with the distant memories of his past life.
Then—a Poké Ball suddenly rolled to his feet.
And burst open!
"Caterpie~"
A small, green head. A soft, yellow underbelly. Large, blinking eyes. A pink, Y-shaped antenna.
Sato had already stepped back against the door, his gaze on the Pokémon a mixture of nostalgia and cold indifference.
A Caterpie—one of the most common Pokémon in Kanto.
Without warning, Caterpie lifted its head and shot out a stream of white silk—String Shot! Its once-clear eyes were now blood-red.
Sato dodged to the side, his nostalgic expression disappearing completely, leaving only cold detachment.
The string shot directly onto the metal wall. Just after using the move, Caterpie was in a state where its previous force had been spent, and new strength had yet to build. Sato crouched low, tensed his legs, and lunged forward.
His right hand shot out, grabbing Caterpie's pink antenna. His left hand pressed firmly on its head.
Then, with every ounce of strength in his ten-year-old body—
Rip!
The antenna was torn off at the root. Green, viscous liquid splattered across Sato's face, but he didn't even blink. He simply stood still, feeling the trembling body of Caterpie beneath his palm before it collapsed into the thick pool of blood.
Quick. Precise. Ruthless.
Sato wiped the blood from his face using his pajama sleeve. Then, he stood silently, waiting for the others to finish their trials.
Before long, a hidden iron door slid open on the opposite side of the room. Lowering his head slightly, Sato walked out without hesitation.
From the moment he had entered the cage, he had never once looked back at Caterpie.
As a Gold-rank assassin, Sato wouldn't call himself completely heartless. But he could kill without hesitation. Even if his opponent was a young, newly hatched Pokémon, he could calmly pinpoint its weakness and strike lethally in a single move.
Stepping out, Sato glanced at the five other cages. Their doors stood wide open. The rooms were empty.
It was clear—under such conditions, both humans and Pokémon, no matter how pure, would succumb to the overwhelming scent of blood.
The moment they entered, they all understood one thing—kill, or be killed.
Ghost Ship's Death Training Camp.
The first trial.
A bloodstained elimination process.
The first lesson—face a Pokémon. Kill it. Or be killed.
With absolute brutality, the Ghost Ship organization shattered any remaining fantasies of kindness within their recruits.
"This batch is absolutely pathetic. Out of 136 people, only 38 passed the first round. Looks like my evaluation is hopeless," a familiar voice rang out.
The Red-rank and Blue-rank assassins stepped forward from the shadows.
The Red-rank assassin spoke regretfully, but his eyes gleamed with excitement.
The surviving 38 recruits gritted their teeth in silence.
To them, he was nothing but a lunatic.
Among them, there were still traces of fear, hatred, and even excitement.
But not despair.
No matter how, they had conquered their hesitation.
They had killed a Pokémon with their bare hands.
Their mindsets had already begun to shift.
"Congratulations! You have passed the first round of elimination. No time to waste—let's move straight to the next round. The rules remain the same, so do your best!"
The Red-rank assassin's mood shifted unpredictably.
As the 38 survivors looked on in fear, he pressed the remote control in his hand once again.
The iron cages reopened.
This time, a small weapon was placed at the entrance of each cage—a knife.
"Weapons? That makes things easier."
"Weapons also mean the opponent will be stronger."
The second speaker received glares of pure irritation.
Stating the obvious was not appreciated.
People were already terrified—no one needed it spelled out.
"001, 014, 028…"
The Red-rank assassin began calling out numbers.
After every ten names, he would stop.
One by one, the chosen recruits stepped into the cages and picked up a knife.
Click!
Once again, the iron doors closed.
A moment later—banging. Screams. Clashes.
Yet, unlike before—
It lasted less than a minute.
Then—silence.
A faint gulp broke the eerie quiet.
It was barely audible—yet, in the absolute silence, everyone heard it.
Once again—fear spread like a plague.
"033, 036, 046…"
The call of death continued.
Despite their fear, those whose numbers were called stepped forward.
They picked up their knives and entered the blood-stained cages.
Compared to the first round, this time, they were prepared.
Sato was once again the last in line.
As he stared at the eighth cage, something flickered in his eyes—excitement.
Picking up the knife, he strode forward.
Unlike the others—who wore expressions of terror and dread—
He was smiling.
Click!
The familiar locking sound.
The same crimson-drenched room.
But instead of searching for his opponent—
Sato pressed the knife against the back of his own hand.
And made a shallow cut.
"Ku~"
A weak, yet defiant cry echoed through the room.
Following the sound, a small, black figure emerged from the shadows.
As Sato laid eyes on it, his grin widened.
One of the biggest reasons he had chosen to join Ghost Ship in this life—
Was standing right in front of him.
A Pokémon used for rookie trials.
A Pokémon that could be killed at any moment.
Zorua.